Best Bee's Feet

The Christmas present from my husband arrived today. I know what it is, too, having circled in red ink the precise item in Pottery Barn’s fall catalog. I encouraged Steve to hurry and order it before it sold out. (It was marked down from $149 to $129, and would go fast, fast, fast!) Steve gave me The Look – the one that said, “I can’t believe I married a nerd. Why didn’t somebody warn me?” The Look has accompanied every nest, feather, and acorn I’ve carted home since my earliest forays outdoors. Not too long ago I found a snakeskin, another time a bee – the jumbo variety known as “bumble.” It was a perfect specimen and appeared to have died mid-flight, landing on the sidewalk on all fours. I picked it up, cradling it in the palm of one hand, and later perched it atop my computer. I taped its little bee feet to my hard drive, where it remained until its legs dried up and its wings fell off, and its body disintegrated.

But I digress.

The present is a shadowbox, a “unique collection of faux quail eggs,” painted and detailed to look like the real thing. There are twenty-five eggs in all, and the frame is suitable for hanging on the living-room wall, adjacent to the piano. I want desperately to have a peek, but I promise to refrain. Meanwhile, there’s an aging alder in the neighborhood with a splendid array of cones, each about the size of a peanut. I’m gonna get me some.